Unhealed Scars
by Aneeta Potter
Summary: After a horrific ordeal that scars Alex both physically and mentally, he must return to normal life as though nothing has happened. Back at Brookland (and avoiding MI6) Alex finds that keeping his past in the shadows may be impossible with both his friends and teachers on his case. Contains violence, torture, and some language later on. Please leave a review!
1. Alone

**I don't own Alex Rider… yet. I hope you enjoy the story.**

Alone

Alex Rider was all alone. For the first time since his capture nobody was hurting him, or shouting at him, or whispering threats in his ear. He was conscious and not drugged. He was completely and utterly on his own.

A single tear rolled down his cheek. It ran over the duct tape over his mouth and dripped down onto his bare chest, merging into the mass of sweat and blood as though it had never existed. It was the first tear of his ordeal – he had endured everything so far without losing it, without giving his captors anything to show them that they were winning. But right here, alone, tied to a chair, the helplessness of his situation had fully hit him and the tear had escaped from his shield of indifference.

Alex felt himself beginning to hyperventilate and he struggled to regain control. He calmed his breathing, trying to make sure that a second tear didn't escape from his wet eyes. These people didn't deserve any of his tears, and he wouldn't give them another. In fact, he promised himself this first tear would be the last.

He would get through this. After all, he had gotten through worse things; he had been shot in the chest for Christ sake. He promised himself that he would beat these people – they thought they were so clever, but they made mistakes. He just had to exploit one of those mistakes.

This new found resolve pulled Alex back into reality and out of his thoughts. He was alone. While this little fact had triggered a slight panic attack, it meant that he could act. Able to appraise the room more carefully now he wasn't worried about a fist in the face if he looked up, he saw that it was small and square, with no windows. There were small drains studded into the floor, which was splattered with his blood. The whole place stank of rust and urine. It was almost as if they were trying to be clichéd. This thought made Alex slightly hysterical and he had to overcome a desire to laugh.

As he held back the laughter he saw something promising. A bit of rusted metal on the cell wall behind his left shoulder. It looked like it was sharp. He flexed his wrists, feeling the thickness of the ropes. He winced at the sting it elicited against his rubbed skin, but smiled slightly despite the pain. He was pretty sure that he could get the ropes off if he could get in the right position. All he had to do was shift the chair over to the wall…

A sound outside shattered his scheme before it had even begun. They were coming back for him. Alex composed himself; he couldn't show any weakness in front of these men. The plan helped him to keep strong – all he had to do was hold out until they brought him back in here and left him alone, and then he could escape.

The door opened. Two henchmen walked in, followed by the Boss. Alex didn't know his name, hence his nickname 'the Boss'. The heavily built man wrinkled his nose at the smell in the cell. Alex hadn't been allowed to go to the bathroom so his trousers and the floor were soaked in urine; its stench filled the room, mingling with the scents of blood and sweat. One of the henchmen stepped forward and roughly ripped the tape off Alex's mouth. Alex winced slightly and looked up at the Boss.

"You need to work on your personal hygiene, Alex." The Boss sneered, "I know you're a teenager but this is just ridiculous."

"You should smell my classroom at the end of the day." Alex returned, rolling his eyes. His light humour made him feel braver, but he braced himself for the blow that it would cost. A second later it came – a punch across his face that snapped his head round.

"Manners, Alex. Anyway, you could definitely use a shower." The Boss continued, "As a caring adult I feel obliged to provide you with one." The Boss nodded to his men, and the three of them stepped out of the cell. Alex briefly wondered what was he meant, but an answer was abruptly provided. A huge jet of icy water whacked into his chest, soaking him and making him gasp in shock and pain. It was freezing and the pressure was so powerful that he knew it would leave bruises; it was as though he was being punched by an iron fist.

The water lowered in pressure slightly, and he began to feel relieved. But then it was brought up and against his face. Surprised, he left his mouth open and water rushed in, choking him. He couldn't breathe and he began to panic. He gasped for air but found only water, his whole body writhing around as he failed to get any air and started to drown. Just as he wondered if he was going to die they pulled the water away from his face and onto his legs and the floor. Alex spluttered and coughed, trying to expel the water from his lungs. But he wasn't granted a reprieve for long. The water was pushed back into his face and he choked more down. It was worse the second time; water was in his stomach and his lungs, burning him like acid. Black spots appeared at the edge of his vision as he gagged and desperately inhaled, only making it worse. When they finally brought the water away his rasping coughs filled the room as he once again found oxygen. Alex turned his head to the side and retched violently, watery bile spilling down him. He was wheezing so much that he didn't even notice as the water was turned off and the three men returned to the room.

"It's nice to see the room so clean." The Boss commented, alerting Alex to his presence. Even if Alex could have thought through the pain and come with a witty response, he wouldn't have been able to speak; he was still coughing. After the Boss spoke Alex retched again, more bile spilling out onto his clothes. The Boss wrinkled his nose. "I can't say the same for you." He nodded at one of his men, who untied Alex. Despite this, Alex didn't have the strength to move – he definitely didn't have the strength to fight. He coughed again, not looking up.

"Alex." The Boss was waiting for him to respond. Alex didn't say anything.

"Alex. Kneel down on the floor." The Boss ordered. It was something Alex knew had been coming; his capture involved hours of pain followed by orders. Failing to follow the orders resulted in more pain. He still didn't know what would happen if he followed the orders.

"Piss off." Alex ground out, his throat rough and painful. The Boss gave an overly dramatic sigh, but he was smiling slightly. He had wanted Alex to refuse.

"I think he needs another beating. Take him to the other room; I don't want more blood in here just after we cleaned up. Use the thin metal rods on his back, but heat them up first. We need to burn this disobedience out." The Boss told one of his men, but looking into Alex's eyes as he spoke. Alex held his gaze, glaring at the man, until he was dragged out of the room. Alex knew that he couldn't give the man what he wanted; it was even more horrific than this pain. He would just have to endure until he could escape, or help came.

**What do you think? Should I carry this on? Please leave a review letting me know what you think.**


	2. Escape

**Thank you so much for all your reviews! They really encouraged me to carry on. By the way this story is set after Crocodile Tears, as if Scorpia Rising never happened.**

Escape

The time passed by (although with no way of telling when it was night or day, or any clocks, he had no idea how much time). Alex constantly thought of his escape plan – the rusted metal at the back of his cell remained unnoticed. But every time Alex was brought back to his cell he was either restrained with metal cuffs that the rusted metal could never break or too tired to even stay conscious. A couple of times he was drugged up so much he couldn't tell which way up the ceiling was. The situation was horrendous, but Alex found that he was able to cope – he could manage the horror. Adapting to new situations had always been easy for him, and this was just a new situation. While he was in a state of constant pain and exhaustion, the thought of his escape plan kept him strong.

Eventually he had his chance. And he took it.

He had been left alone after a session that had finished rather nastily. The man who had been supposed to have been dealing with Alex for the entire day had obviously been out late the night before. He looked tired, and after electrocuting Alex on and off for about an hour, he fell asleep (while Alex pretended to be unconscious).When he had awoken he had been furious that Alex hadn't woken him (and scared that the Boss would find out). While he had been treated pretty viciously when the man had awoken and realised his mistake – beaten with the man's belt buckle until blood ran down his back and pooled on the floor – he had been able to rest and recuperate during most of the day. When the Boss had found his man beating Alex senseless Alex had pretended to be hardly conscious, and the Boss had stopped the man and decided Alex could be brought back to his cell. After all, there was no point in beating him if he wasn't awake to feel.

He was tied to the chair with rope, not metal cuffs. He was alone and he wasn't exhausted. He could finally start his plan. Bracing himself both mentally and physically, Alex shuffled the chair over to the wall and moved his wrists up to the sharp metal edge. He moved his wrists forwards and backwards, ignoring the pain that rubbing them caused. The metal in the wall tore his skin as well as the ropes, and he felt fresh blood dripping down over his hands. After what seemed like hours, the ropes fell away.

Alex stood up, heart pounding. He moved carefully over to the door, keeping quiet. He pushed it lightly, and was unsurprised to find it locked. Certain that he would be able to hear if someone came near the door, he sat down on the floor. He must have still been fairly tired from his efforts, because he fell into a light sleep.

He was awoken by the sound of footsteps. For a second he panicked, before quickly rising into a ready position beside the door and preparing to spring. His only advantage would be surprise. The door opened and Alex lunged immediately, putting his hand around the man's mouth and bringing his legs up and around the man's waist. They both fell silently, and Alex rolled on top of the man and whacked him in the head with his elbow, causing him to fall unconscious. The whole thing had been soundless.

Not for the first time, luck was on Alex's side. The man had been by himself – by the look of it he had been bringing Alex breakfast – and he was armed. Alex took the cereal bar gratefully and shoved it into his mouth, knowing he would need the energy. He also took the gun; it felt oddly right in his hand, although he hadn't held one since his time with Scorpia. There was extra ammunition in the man's pocket, which he also pocketed.

He brought the gun up in front of him as he stepped into the corridor, but it was empty. He knew the layout pretty well from all his time here, but he still didn't know where the exit was, or what was outside. He could be in Albania and he would have no idea. Still, he made a pledge that they weren't going to take him alive again – he would rather be in a shoot-out to the death than face another day here. He ignored the doors along the corridor, despite knowing that there were other prisoners behind some of them – he didn't know how far through the Boss's 'process' they were.

He went to the end of the corridor, and through a door he had never been through. Inside the room two of the men who he knew well from his 'sessions' were chatting. They looked sleepy and unaware, and they took a few seconds to notice him. As soon as they did they both lunged for their guns. But Alex was faster. He shot the first one in the chest when he had barely moved, and the second one just as the man brought his gun round towards Alex. The gunshots rang out and filled the small room; they were followed by the sound of the bodies hitting the floor. Alex had never shot anyone before – he felt both appalled and slightly vindictive. After all, these men had never shown him any mercy.

He swallowed his repulsion and searched the bodies – he was rewarded with a mobile phone. Luck was definitely on his side today. It didn't have any signal, so he pocketed it for later.

Knowing that the gunshots would have alarmed anyone nearby, Alex went straight through the door at the other end of the room. It revealed another corridor, with one of the men running along it, towards him. Alex already had the gun raised and he fired it without hesitation – it was easier the third time, something he tried not to dwell on. The henchman went down with a groan. Alex moved along the corridor and rushed to the door at the end. Behind it were stairs – a lot of them. He started up the first flight, quickly becoming out of breath (he wasn't in good shape after his prolonged capture). He kept on going, losing count of how many stairs he had climbed. Eventually he reached the top, and found a door. He stepped into the room, gun first.

Behind the door was what looked like an ordinary living room. It had a television in the corner and a squashy, comfortable looking sofa. The walls were lined with book cases; one of these cases was attached to the door that Alex had just opened, concealing the underground network of rooms. Alex pushed it back in front of the doorway, not wanting anything to look out of place.

He quietly padded through the perfectly ordinary looking house. Covered in grime and blood, with no shirt or shoes, he felt out of place in the clean environment. He found the back door in the kitchen and opened it, stepping outside cautiously. The bright sunlight burned his eyes after so long without it. It warmed his whole body, reducing the pain he was in.

The house was apparently somewhere in the countryside – there were no other houses in site, just fields and a single road leading away from the house. It looked like England though. He checked the phone again but it still didn't have any signal. Cursing, he looked around for a car. While the Boss appeared not to be here today, he didn't know if an alarm had been raised or if the Boss was on his way. There were only two cars in the driveway – either the henchman carpooled or they lived on base.

It was then that Alex realised he didn't know how to hotwire a car. There was no way he was going back inside to find the keys. He walked up the side of the road instead. There was a hill up ahead, before the road split into two directions. Alex took the left on impulse. Eventually he came to another split, and went left again. He was thrilled when he finally got mobile reception. First he checked Google maps to find out where he was; he was in the Chilterns, not far from London.

He didn't have the number for MI6. There was no way he was calling the police; he would have to explain everything and they would probably not believe him. Plus they were hardly inconspicuous. There was no way he was risking getting caught; if that meant leaving the other prisoners with the Boss so be it. He tried the house phone, but Jack didn't pick up. Her mobile went straight to voicemail. The only other person he could think to try was Tom. His friend picked up after the fifth ring.

"Hello." Tom said, sounding bored. Alex felt about a hundred times better after hearing his friend's voice – one of the hardest things about his captivity had been the isolation and loneliness.

"Hi Tom." Alex replied, trying to sound normal. His voice was hoarse from lack of use.

"Alex! Where the hell have you been? Are you back from a mission?" Tom said enthusiastically – he had obviously been worried about Alex, and assumed that his friend was safe and home.

"Not exactly. Tom, I need someone to come and get me. I'm in the Chilterns. Do you know anyone who can drive here?" Alex's voice cracked as he spoke, and he realised how much he needed help. He was in a lot of pain, and he was desperate. The Boss's aim had been to break him, and the aim had nearly been achieved. He was holding himself together with sticky tape.

"Jerry's visiting. I can ask him." Tom's reply was concerned.

"I'll text you the road and GPS coordinates. Can you bring shoes and some clothes, as well as some food and drink?" Alex asked. He was starving.

"Sure Alex." Tom sounded frightened.

"Please be quick. Hopefully I'll see you soon." Alex said, before hanging up. He texted Tom where he was, as promised. Then he sat down slightly off the side of the road, hiding behind a bush so that nobody could see him.

After about an hour a car pulled up – Alex recognised it as Jerry's and stood up, quickly walking over and getting in the back. Jerry was sitting in the driver's seat and Tom in the front. His best friend was staring at him in horror. Alex wondered what he must look like. His bare feet were covered in mud and blood and his torso was a complete mess.

"Drive." Alex instructed, "Avoid any towns, if possible." Jerry obliged, stamping his foot down on the accelerator.

"What happened to you?" Tom asked, aghast.

"A lot." Alex said with a sigh. "Do you have any food?"

"Sure." Tom passed over the food and a shirt, which Alex gratefully pulled on.

"How long have I been gone for?" Alex asked through a mouthful of crisps.

"Nearly eight weeks." Tom told him. "They said you had the flu."

"Eight weeks." Alex sighed. "Jesus Christ. I wasn't sure if it was days or years… That's two whole months of my life."

"Where were you?" Tom asked.

"With a particularly unpleasant set of people." Alex said, simply. "I need to contact MI6 – can you drive me to Liverpool Street?"

"Do you not want to go to the hospital?" Tom said, looking at Alex pointedly.

"I will. As soon as I report in to MI6. There were more captives where I was – they'll need to do a raid quickly. I wasn't willing to call the police myself; they might not have believed me or arrested me. And if they took me down to the station the Boss would have known where I was and might have come to get me. Only MI6 can protect me now." Alex explained.

"The Boss?" Tom inquired.

"Not someone I am ever willing to come into contact with again." Alex said with a shudder. "Unless I get to kill him." He added after a thought.

"That bad?" Tom asked, looking concerned.

"I just killed three people." Alex said, sounding disgusted. "What difference does one more make?"

They drove on in silence. The adrenaline of the escape had completely worn off and Alex was exhausted. He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. Please, please, please leave a review… it will probably make me update faster too. **

**More about Alex's time as a captive will be revealed later on. Also, should Jack be in this story or not? If you have a preference just tell me in a review (or anything else you would like to be in this story). **


	3. Debrief

**I am so sorry for the late update! I have a lot going on in my life so updates might be a little irregular. When people leave reviews it really motivates me to write, so please, please, please spend a few seconds to type one. Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed – I tried to reply but I didn't manage to get back to everyone, so sorry if I missed you. Enjoy. **

**Warnings: This chapter contains violence, torture and bad language. **

Debrief

When Alex woke up he was no longer in the car. He panicked, assuming that they had been caught and that he was back in his cell, or perhaps somewhere worse. But then he realised that he was lying in a soft bed, hooked to monitors and a drip and pumped full of pain medication – the Boss had certainly never heard of pain medication. The ceiling was an unremarkable white plaster and was dull to stare at, so Alex sleepily rolled his head to the side. Tom was sitting next to him, leaning back on a chair with his eyes shut.

"Tom." Alex said, grateful that his friend was near. He watched as Tom opened his eyes and grinned.

"It's good to see you awake. They sedated you to treat you." Tom said.

"What happened?" Alex asked, confused. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in the car. He still felt drowsy; like his head was spinning. It wasn't uncomfortable, just slightly off-putting.

"You fell asleep and wouldn't wake up when we finally got to Liverpool Street. So I carried you in with Jerry's help; we got some funny looks but as soon as we were in they knew exactly who you were. It seems like everybody has been looking for you. Anyway, your Doctor looked after you while I told this woman… Mrs James or something… exactly what you told me in the car."

"Mrs Jones." Alex suggested.

"Yeah that's it. Then they let me come in here and sit with you, but you were asleep for ages so I've been snoozing. Oh and Jack's on her way too – she went to stay with her family while you were gone. I think that they only let me stay because they didn't' want you to wake up and freak out or something."

"You talked to Mrs Jones?" Alex asked; slightly bemused at this strange turn of events.

"Yep. She made me sign the official secrets act too." Tom said with a grin. "Jerry had to sign it as well. He thinks I'm so much cooler now."

"How long was I out for?"

"Like eight hours. Your Doctor said that you would probably be coming around soon – he'll probably be to come and see you pretty soon." Tom said with a yawn. As if on cue the Doctor walked in, along with Mrs Jones.

"Hi Alex. I'm Dr Miles Clarkson. How are you feeling?" Dr Clarkson had a soft and friendly sounding voice that had probably been perfected from years of working with patients. Alex wondered how many of them had been agents returning from traumatic situations like his.

"Pumped full of pain medication." Alex replied, feeling woozy.

"I thought you would need it. Considering how long you've been in captivity for you're in great shape, but the welts on your back and your unhealed wounds and burns must have been very painful. You have a lot of scars, but it looks like a lot of your injuries have already been treated. Did you receive medical care while in captivity?" The doctor asked.

"Yeah. After every 'session'. They wanted me in good health for later." Alex explained. The doctor nodded before continuing.

"You're also a little malnourished and dehydrated. But your state of health is remarkably good considering that you've been held captive. Anyway, despite my opinion that you need to sleep, Mrs Jones wants to debrief you." Dr Clarkson finished, shooting Mrs Jones a disapproving look. She didn't even acknowledge it. Instead, she turned to Alex.

"If your friend leaves we can get started." Mrs Jones said, speaking up for the first time. She looked pointedly at Tom.

"I won't tell anyone what he says." Tom defended, obviously not wanting to leave his best friend's side. After all, he had only just got his friend back.

"I don't think you'll want to hear this Tom." Alex said with a sigh, "I'll tell you later, more nicely."

"If that's what you want." Tom agreed, and left the room, albeit fairly reluctantly. Mrs Jones waited until the door had shut before speaking. Alex didn't miss her enforced unfriendly expression; she was obviously shaken and was trying (rather unsuccessfully in his opinion) to hide it.

"We know you were grabbed on the way back from school." Mrs Jones continued, "So you can just start from your captivity.

"Ok." Alex closed his eyes, stepped into the past and started to recount the story.

_Waking up was a slow process. The drug that they had given Alex left him in a bizarre state of lucid unconsciousness; he had essentially been hallucinating for a while. But gradually it wore off, and eventually he found himself sitting rather lopsidedly in a comfortable chair. He blinked slowly, becoming more aware of his surroundings. The room was attractive, with polished wood panels and a warm fire in the corner. The only thing out of place was a sinister looking table, with leather straps hanging off it. A man was sitting opposite him, with two bulky men standing beside him. Alex immediately nicknamed the man in the middle as the Boss – he reeked of authority and power. _

"_Where am I? Who are you?" Alex spoke slightly hoarsely; the drug they had used had left his mouth and throat feeling strange. _

"_You are at my facility. As for who I am… that does not matter. What does matter is what I want." The Boss had a distinctively posh accent, straight out of somewhere like Eton. It didn't match his heavy physique or bloodless face._

"_What do you want?" Alex asked, not quite sure he actually wanted to know. _

"_I want you to become one of my people." The Boss said shortly. "You have quite a reputation for such as young person, Alex." _

"_You want me to work for you?" Alex summarised, irritated now. Why the hell couldn't all these people just leave him alone? _

"_You misunderstand. You will not work for me; I will own you. Anything I ask, you will do without question or comment. There will be no thoughts of disobedience; you will belong completely to me."_

"_I don't think that this is something…" Alex began, but before he could finish one of the henchman punched him in the stomach, winding him._

"_You do not talk unless I have asked you a direct question, you just obey." The Boss snapped. "I will begin by breaking you down completely; you will become empty. Then I will train you and you will be mine. The breaking part is one I particularly enjoy; with you it may last for some weeks, perhaps even months. Now, is there anything else you wish to say before we begin?"_

_Alex was horrified, but he hid his expression. This man was clearly insane, and he was stuck with him. He decided to respond with a short, ugly swear word. But the Boss wasn't fazed; he just smiled._

"_There is one thing you will always remember; from now till your death, I own you." The Boss continued. "I will brand it into your memory. Now take off your shirt."_

"_I hate to break it you but I play for the other team." Alex said with a smirk. As expected, he was rewarded with another blow. One of the henchman ripped his shirt off anyway, not even bothering to unbutton it. Being shirtless made him feel surprisingly vulnerable. He struggled as he was pulled over to the table in the middle of the room and strapped down – his wrists and ankles were first bound, before more straps were pulled across his body. _

"_You belong to me Alex. It's something I will not let you forget." The Boss went over to the fire and pulled out a branding iron. The end was red hot; the metal shaped to form the letters 'DR' enclosed in a circle. Alex tried to struggle against his bonds, but they were so tight he could barely move. He already knew it was too late. It took all his effort not to lose it completely, but he managed to maintain some kind of control. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited for the pain. _

_He didn't have to wait long. Alex screamed as he felt a blinding pain just above his hip, and smelt his flesh burning._

"It all went downhill from there." Alex finished, wincing at the memory.

"It's as we suspected. The man you described recruits his operatives with this particularly specialised method; they are the most ruthless and obedient in the world. When we raided the station you escaped from we found four other prisoners, all skilled intelligence workers from various agencies, who were part of the same indoctrination process. But the man you called the Boss got away." Mrs Jones said. She didn't sound particularly apologetic; nor did she elaborate (she didn't reveal the actual name of the Boss, for one thing). Alex's heart sank; he had really, really hoped that they would catch the Boss. Plus it was clear that, once again, MI6 was going to leave him in the dark like some petulant child unable to cope with the truth. Mrs Jones looked up at him, her face clinical. "What did they do to you?"

"Long periods of isolation intermixed with various creative forms of torture." Alex said slowly. The anger was beginning to build up inside him. He had come straight to MI6 for help, but they were treating him as though he had just come back from two months in the Bahamas'.

"Detail, Alex." Mrs Jones instructed. This little order set Alex off and the enforced calm he had been maintaining fell away. He suddenly realised how furious he was with everyone in this dark world that he had been pulled into.

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you exactly how it feels to be water boarded for what seems like hours? Or being burnt with a lighter every time the guy who smoked lit up, and waiting until he finished so he could stub it out on my skin? Or being locked in this tiny crate for what must have been days every time they couldn't be bothered to deal with me?" Alex's voice was rising gradually, his voice filling the room. "This has fucked me up and you know it. I don't have a chance now. Not a chance at being normal. Because I killed them and it felt fucking vindictive! I would do it again. So, no, I won't give you the gory details!" Alex yelled, blood pounding in his ears. Mrs Jones blank expression further angered him. "This was your fault. You made me into a weapon. You left me there for months. Did you even try to find me?" He hissed. "I don't want anything more to do with MI6, or the CIA, or even bloody ASIS. I am now ignoring you. I'll speak to my doctor, because quite frankly I want the pain meds and this bloody brand to be removed surgically. That's it. So you can tell Alan Blunt to go and fuck himself."

Mrs Jones had lost her emotionless expression as he had vented, and she winced at the final, spat out sentence. She tried to cover quickly afterwards, but Alex had already seen. He knew that she had once been a mother, and that this was probably increasing her obvious sense of guilt even more, but he figured that she deserved it. Trying to mask her sense of blame with an expression of cold indifference was not helping him, nor was it particularly convincing.

"Ok, Alex. I can see you're upset. We'll be in touch." Mrs Jones said, diplomatically, after a long pause. She got up to leave, shooting him a concerned look. Alex ignored her. He knew it was childish but right now he couldn't care less.

"Dr Clarkson. Please tell me you can get rid of the symbol." Alex said, turning to the bewildered doctor.

"Yes, that shouldn't be a problem. I know someone who is really very good in this field – but she's away for three more weeks in Somalia. She would be best; this kind of specialised burn needs a surgeon like her. So I'll schedule you in for when she gets back." Dr Clarkson informed him.

"That sounds great. Now can I go?" Alex asked.

"You need to heal up Alex." Dr Clarkson said carefully, obviously trying not to set him off again.

"I can do that at home. I just need rest, food and medication." Alex pointed out.

"This ordeal won't just go away. It's going to have a psychological impact on you as well as a physical one. You need time off from the world to heal. I would strongly suggest that we transfer you to St Dominic's Hospital." Dr Clarkson insisted.

"I'm fine." Alex said, as convincingly as possible. "You can't make me stay in hospital against my will."

"Alex. While most of you injuries are superficial or have already been treated while you were in captivity, you must be in a lot of pain. I'm also really worried about the possibility of PTSD." Dr Clarkson explained.

"I don't want to be in hospital. I just want to go home." Alex said stubbornly. Dr Clarkson sighed and looked at him, obviously realising that there was no way Alex was going anywhere near a hospital any time soon.

"If you are really unwilling to stay here then, since you're a special case, I suppose we could treat you at home. I would be happy to visit, and my colleagues would probably understand the situation." The doctor suggested.

"Fine." Alex agreed.

"I'll arrange an ambulance to drive you home later. But for now, sleep. You need to rest." Dr Clarkson said.

Alex tried to argue, but the Doctor had already emptied something into his drip and he felt himself, once again, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

**I wasn't sure about this chapter, but I figured that I should post something. I hope you enjoyed it. A review would be really, really appreciated (plus you can tell me any characters or points you would like to be included). **


	4. Rest and Recovery

**I'm so sorry for the length between updates! I've had exams so I haven't written anything for ages. Plus I had writers block. I hope you still stick with this story. This chapter is a bit of a filler chapter, and is a bit short. I hope you enjoy it.**

Rest and Recovery 

Alex awoke in his own bed. Doctor Clarkson was sitting beside him this time, not Tom. He felt awful; tired and achy, with a dry mouth and throat. His pain medication had obviously been cut down, because his back was throbbing slightly.

"Hi Alex. Do you remember what happened?"

"Uhh… I went to sleep at MI6 and then…" He tailed off. Vague memories swam around in his brain, refusing to be brought to the surface. There were just scraps, with nothing concrete.

"You became agitated whenever you awoke, perhaps due to the strong pain medication you were on, so we sedated you. I kept you asleep until you became well enough to return home and come off the strong stuff. I believe you found your surroundings at MI6 to be threatening." Dr Clarkson told him. "How do you feel?"

"Fine." Alex lied. "But less drugged up. How long was I out?"

"About four days, on and off." Doctor Clarkson informed him. It was longer than Alex had expected. The realisation that so much time had passed brought a question to the front of his mind.

"Where's Jack?" Alex asked. After four days she should have been back in England, beside him.

"She's outside. Do you want to see her?" The doctor asked with a smile. He had obviously been expecting the question. Alex nodded and returned the smile; the action felt strange.

"Hi Jack." Alex whispered. She looked worried and hurt, although she was trying to hide it for his benefit. He felt guilty instantly; after all, she had been stressed on his behalf.

"Alex! It's good to see you awake." Jack said with a slightly forced smile.

"I'm fine really, just a few bumps and bruises." Alex lied. In his mind there was nothing wrong with being economic with the truth.

"Do you need anything? Soup, maybe? I have a carton downstairs." Jack asked, clearly not believing his 'fine really' line.

"No. I just want to sleep." Alex said, truthfully. He was exhausted. "I'd love some when I wake up, though. Thanks Jack."

"Okay Alex. I'll be here. Sleep. " Jack said, looking anxious.

"Do I look that bad?" Alex asked warily, taking in her concerned expression.

"You look like you've gone through more than a few bumps and bruises." Jack stated, but not without humour. Alex was glad that she was cheering up – she wasn't really herself when she was so serious. With that in mind he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The days passed, with Alex getting better and better all the time; at least physically, if not mentally. He wouldn't talk about what had happened with anyone – Jack, his doctor and Tom were still mostly in the dark. They knew that he had been tortured and kept in isolation, but they found it difficult to connect to that, and help Alex to deal with it – it was so far out from anything they had ever experienced. They also couldn't imagine the guilt that Alex was feeling over the men he had killed. Alex sat up at night wondering if they had parents or children that mourned for them. As the amount of drugs he was on got lower, Alex got less and less drowsy.

The pain he was in faded. The nightmares grew stronger. Every night he was back in his cell, afraid and alone. The dreams were so vivid that sometimes when he awoke he was convinced that reality was the dream, and that his bedroom was just a hallucination. The nightmares also haunted him during the day – he would be hit by flashbacks at the smallest of stimuli. After the first few times that it happened he learnt to hide it; otherwise Jack would make a fuss. She had nagged him about seeing a therapist for a while, and the idea of him having flashbacks would probably push her over the edge. So Alex pretended he was fine. He had agreed to see a therapist as soon as he was back at school to comfort her (he was sure that he could pretend to be fine during sessions too).

Alex had also avoided MI6 entirely. They had called regularly, but he refused to speak to them, hanging up immediately. Eventually he had unplugged the phone. He knew that they could have come to the house, but Mrs Jones could clearly tell he wasn't in a diplomatic mood, and let him be by himself. But Alex had no idea how long her patience would last.

He hated being cooped up in the house. It was dull, and there was nothing to distract him from the bad memories. It was better when Tom came to visit; the presence of his friend made him feel more normal, like the whole horrific situation with MI6 had never happened. Tom didn't press him for answers or act like he was fragile – Tom acted like Tom had always acted, and treated Alex like he had always treated Alex.

All of this meant that Alex wanted to go back to school as soon as possible. And, as soon as was off most of his medication and in virtually no pain, that was exactly what he decided to do. Dr Clarkson had written to the school with a list of complicated sounding medical problems that Alex had apparently been suffering from over the past months. However this was unlikely to convince many of the staff and students – rumours were far more exciting. If Alex didn't get back to school soon it was likely he'd never get back – and absolutely nobody would believe the doctor's excuses.

In the end, Alex knew he just had to make the leap and start school. He dug his old books out of the cupboard and found his pencil case. He checked that his uniform still fitted (luckily it did, despite the weight that he had lost), and found his tie under his bed after half an hour of searching. He set his alarm for seven and went to bed early, so he wouldn't be tired for the next day.

He was going back to school.

**Thanks for reading. Please, please, please leave a review. It encourages me to write, because I find carrying this story on tricky. Just let me know if you'd like anything to be in this story (like characters or plot lines). Thanks again :D**


	5. First Day

**I am so, so sorry that this is so late! I nearly gave up on this story all together, but people reviewing kept telling me to update. I thought since it had been so long I'd give a quick summary of the story so far (or you can just reread previous chapters):  
**_**Alex is kidnapped by a man he nicknames 'The Boss', who wants Alex to become part of his organisation. He wants Alex to obey all orders without question, so tortures him while giving him orders as a form of indoctrination. Alex isn't too badly injured as the Boss doesn't want him too damaged, but the torture is both physical and psychological. Alex (who isn't so great at orders) resists, but the experience has a deep and profound effect on him. After months he manages to escape, killing three people in the process. He calls Tom and gets his worried friend to pick him. Tom takes him to MI6, after Alex collapses from exhaustion. Angry at MI6, Alex tells them that he wants no contact with them (apart from continued medical help from his doctor). He recovers mainly at home, but suffers from nightmares and flashbacks. He decides that, in order to feel normal again, he needs to get back to school.**_

First Day

"Alex Rider. You're back." Mrs Bedfordshire looked over the desk at him appraisingly.

"Yeah. I've been sick…" Alex tailed off. He couldn't remember exactly what his illness was supposed to have been – something to do with flu complications. Luckily Mrs Bedfordshire didn't question him further on the exact nature of his absence. She simply passed him his timetable and smiled.

"Let's hope you don't get sick again. You better get to maths. It wouldn't do to be late on your first day."

Alex smiled back and quickly checked the room number on his timetable, before stepping out into the corridor. Brookland School looked exactly the same as it always had inside, although he felt very different. As students rushed passed him, hurrying to their lessons, he stood still, out of kilter with the rest of the world; out of sync with ordinary teenagers and their ordinary lives. Then he got a grip on himself and joined the throng, easily finding his way to his maths classroom.

Alex was glad to know that they had left him in top set – he had been half expecting to find that he had been moved down a set due to his long absence. He knew the teacher, Mr Donovan, fairly well, and it was nice to have some familiarity. He found his old seat by the window and sat down. He had been one of the first to arrive, but now other students filed in, followed by Mr Donovan himself.

"Alex." The teacher sounded surprised to see him. "It's good to see that you're better. You've been off school for a while."

"I was sick," Alex said simply. Sometimes lies were best left short.

"You'll have a lot of catching up to do," The teacher said, although not unkindly. "If you see me at the end I'll give you a list of all the things you've missed."

"Thank you Sir," Alex replied, trying to sound enthusiastic at the idea. Extra maths homework was not his idea of a good time.

The teacher's brief conversation had alerted the rest of the class to Alex's presence. Some of the students carried on chatting – the ones who didn't know him and didn't really care. But most of them seemed interested that he was back. He was sure there had been more than a few rumours about where he had been. His inadequate medical explanations probably didn't help.

Max, who had been a friend of his before MI6, sat down next to him. He was a quiet boy who was more interested in reading than football, and Alex had always got on well with him.

"Hey, Alex," The other boy said, slightly awkwardly.

"Hi Max," Alex replied, in a similar tone.

"So where were you? Because I know you weren't sick. Your house was empty," Max said quickly after a long pause, looking at him seriously.

"I was in hospital," Alex replied, trying to make it sound as though it were obvious. Max didn't look satisfied.

"Like last time?" He pointed out. "You don't go to hospital for flu."

"There were complications."

"Stop lying Alex. Look, I don't care if you have a problem, I care that you've been lying to all of us for months. It's ok if your uncle's death hit you hard. Have you been in therapy or something?"

"It was just flu, Max. I have a weak immune system," Alex said with a sigh.

"Whatever," Max retorted, obviously upset. Alex wished, just for a moment, that he could tell him the truth. But then he remembered how awful the truth was, and quashed that thought. He watched as Max moved seats, leaving him by himself. That was the problem with lying. All of his old friends knew him well enough to tell he was keeping things from them, and because of that they didn't want to be his friends anymore.

Alex wondered if it was even worth trying to be normal. He didn't fit in at school, or in the world of espionage. He was part spy, part schoolboy – doomed to be neither one nor the other in entirety. A terrible sense of melancholy threatened to overwhelm him. He had never felt so lonely while surrounded by this many people. For a second memories of being kept in isolation were pulled to the front of his mind – being chained up in a tiny box cell (so small he couldn't stand up) with food and water dropped in from a hatch so he couldn't even see the face of the person keeping him alive. There was nothing quite as painful as being alone.

Then James Hale sat down beside him.

"I'm glad you're back. Ignore Max. If you don't want to talk about stuff that's fine. I'd much rather talk about football anyway," James said, shooting Max a glare across the classroom. Alex felt a glowing warmth spread through him, and grinned at his friend.

Alex spent the lesson doing trigonometry and chatting to James. It was almost as though he had stepped back in time a year.

At the end of the hour Alex stayed behind to briefly talk to Mr Donovan, who gave him a topic list and a textbook. Mr Donovan suggested he come back at break time to collect some more sheets, and then wrote a note for him so that he wouldn't get in trouble for being late for geography.

Geography was a cover lesson, and the supply teacher barely glanced at Alex when he entered the already filled classroom. Alex found an empty seat next to Tom, glad that he shared this lesson with his best friend. The room was noisy as pupils chatted – the cover teacher didn't seem to mind.

"Hey Tom. What are we doing?" Alex asked, glancing at the cover teacher.

"A sheet on volcanoes," Tom said, sounding bored. "You can have mine; I'm not going to do it."

"I am," Alex replied honestly. "I've got a lot of catching up to do." He scanned through the sheet, realising that he actually knew most of the material from his general knowledge base. He quickly labelled the diagram of the volcano and scribbled answers to the questions. Meanwhile Tom brought him up to speed on school gossip. Alex half listened, but it was hard to concentrate with all the noise, while doing the work. When he finished he looked up at Tom, who seemed mildly amused.

"I can't believe you actually bothered to do the work in a cover lesson," Tom said with a grin.

"It only took about ten minutes," Alex pointed out.

"That's ten minutes that you'll never get back," Tom responded.

"I can think of worse ways to spend ten minutes," Alex said, with a slight shudder. Tom's expression sobered. Alex wondered why he had said that; it had just come out. He had attempted to push all memories of his ordeal to the back of his mind, but he had obviously been unsuccessful. He decided to change the subject.

"What was it you were saying about Dan and Katie getting together?" He asked, knowing Tom wouldn't be able to resist answering. Alex was not disappointed; his friend launched into an animated explanation of the whole event.

After geography it was break time. Alex had to go and see Mr Donovan, to collect the maths work. It had started to rain slightly, the water running down the windows and spitting onto the concrete below. As he stepped into his maths classroom Alex watched the rain warily, but with interest. He hadn't seen weather like it since before…

"Alex. Here to collect the work?" Mr Donovan asked, looking up at him expectantly.

"Yeah," Alex said, pulling his eyes away from the window. "I really appreciate you taking the time to do this."

"It's good that you want to catch up. You're a smart boy, Alex. You need to start thinking about what you want from the future. I don't know the truth about your absences, and I know you can't help it if you get sick, but if you keep missing school like this you won't achieve your full potential. Next time you get sick, email the school, and we can forward you work," Mr Donovan said slowly, making eye contact with Alex.

"Yes sir," Alex said, lowering his gaze. "I don't think I'll be getting sick again, though." Alex genuinely believed that this might be the case – he was still ignoring MI6, and they seemed to be leaving him alone for the time being. He knew that this was unlikely to last, but he had decided to simply blank MI6 when they tried to contact him. He didn't have to answer the phone, or listen to them at all.

"That's good to hear," Mr Donovan replied with slight smile. "I have copies of everything you've missed in my office – it's across the piazza in B block. It's raining a bit so we might get a bit damp along the way."

"That's fine." Alex returned the smile.

The two of them walked down the stairs and along the corridor, Mr Donovan summarising all of the work that Alex had missed. Alex was concentrating so much that he didn't even notice that they had stepped outside at first. But then he felt the rain, cold against his face. He panicked immediately; the rain wasn't slight drizzle, it was a jet, covering his mouth and nose. He was choking, the water running into his lungs. He couldn't breathe, or speak, or breath he couldn't breathe he couldn't…

"Alex. Alex!"

Someone was calling his name but it was just a distant echo. He could hardly remember his name, there was so much pain; all that he could focus on was the agony of trying to breathe.

"Alex Rider!"

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He could hear them repeating his name, gently, in his ear. The water was no longer running down his face. He blinked and focused on what he could see. He was lying on the ground, Mr Donovan leaning over him, saying his name softly.

Alex rolled over onto his side, aware that he was wet enough from the ground beneath already, but not caring. He couldn't work up the strength to get up, or even to speak. He could hear that his breathing was ragged gasps and he slowed it, trying to calm himself down.

Mr Donovan saw what Alex was trying to do, and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

After about a minute Alex pulled himself to his feet. He felt incredibly drained. The flashback had been so vivid – the overwhelming panic had engulfed him.

"I'm sorry sir. I felt… sick." Alex finally got out. His voice cracked on the final word, and he cursed himself inside for sounding so weak.

"Alex. You were moaning and saying things. What's going on? Do you need to get to medical?"

"What did I say?" Alex asked, voice low.

"You kept saying 'I won't", muttering it," Mr Donovan answered. He looked incredible shaken. The teacher obviously didn't know what to do. Alex knew he had to get away before Mr Donovan could break free of his daze.

"I'll go to medical," Alex quickly said, before turning and fleeing. He ran round the side of the building and out of the school gate. He kept running, barely thinking, grateful that his fitness was better thanks to the physiotherapy Doctor Clarkson had gotten him to do. He reached his house, soaking wet, and realised he had forgotten his keys. Jack wasn't in.

He climbed over the back fence and into the back garden, to check the back door. He was both concerned and thankful to find it unlocked – while it was a security breach, he didn't fancy staying outside until Jack got back.

Once inside, he flopped down on to the sofa and let his head sag backwards, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. The phone started to ring (Jack must have plugged it back in after he had aggressively wrenched it from the socket), but he ignored it. It might have been the school, or MI6, or even Doctor Clarkson – but right now he didn't care.

Alex didn't move; he just sat, soaking, alone in the empty house.

**I hope you liked this chapter – I wasn't sure about it but I thought I should post something. There might be a couple of mistakes… Please, please leave a review: I find it hard to motivate myself to write this story as I have so much stuff (mainly exams) on at the moment, and they really encourage me to keep up this story. The next update may not be for a while, but I'll try my best. So yeah… Please Review!**


	6. Therapy

Therapy

The next day, Alex went back to school. Jack was against it after his disastrous first day, but she didn't want to stop Alex if he was certain it was the right thing to do. When the school had called Jack had been brilliant; she had told them that Alex had felt very faint and unwell because he had been on new medication (for his 'flu complications'). It had led to his collapse, and he had rushed home in a mildly delirious state. It absolved Alex of all blame, which was nice. But placating the school was only the first step – Jack was the much larger obstacle. She had been gobsmacked at his desire to return to school immediately, and was concerned that he was keeping his difficulties to himself. In the end they agreed that Alex could go back to school only if he started going to the therapy sessions that Doctor Clarkson was arranging without complaint (after all, he had promised her he would attend).

He was fortunate that only Mr Donovan had seen his panic attack. He didn't think he could stand any more gossip from his peers. Mr Donovan himself seemed unconvinced by the medication cover story – he kept staring at Alex when he thought that Alex wasn't looking. Alex tried to avoid any conversations with the teacher: he felt embarrassed and ashamed at what had happened.

Over the next week Alex carefully avoided any triggers, chatted to Tom and James at lunch about nothing much, and started to catch up on schoolwork. He was fairly quiet and withdrawn in class, focusing on work and occasionally dwelling on things he wished he could forget, and soon he faded into the background of Brookland. But, while outwardly things seemed normal, underneath Alex wasn't coping well. He was trying to block everything out by focusing on other things, but he hadn't actually processed or dealt with any of his ordeal. He knew that his solution wasn't sustainable, and that he couldn't just ignore the flashbacks, but he just didn't want to deal with things. It was just too difficult to go back over his memories. After all, it was bad enough to go through them once.

When the weekend came close, Alex was both relieved and tense. Relieved because he no longer had to pretend to be fine all the time, but tense because he would no longer have school as a distraction from his thoughts. When he was part of a crowd it was easy for him to imagine that he was the same as everybody else; once alone, or with a few people, it became much more difficult. Plus the weekend meant that Alex had to attend his first therapy session – it was booked for four o clock on Saturday, and Alex was not looking forward to it. He knew that the counsellor wouldn't understand anything, and would probably have no respect for his personal boundaries. But Dr Clarkson had already arranged it and thought it was necessary; the doctor claimed that the counsellor was the best he knew.

In a way, Alex was grateful. He knew that if the doctor wanted him to see the counsellor it was probably a good idea. Alex sometimes wondered how long he would have the support of the Doctor – while MI6 were humouring him, he knew they could easily make life very difficult for him. This acceptance of his refusal to talk to them would not last; this silent truce was certainly temporary. However Alex had a feeling that MI6 didn't have full power over the doctor – perhaps they didn't have the power to withdraw his medical help. Instead, MI6 would probably try to get to him through good old fashioned 'persuasion'; which was exactly why he had decided just not to talk to them.

The last lesson of Friday afternoon was games. Alex had worn his games shirt under his school shirt so that when they got changed, nobody would see his scarred torso. The brand still hadn't been removed, and Alex was unwilling to schedule a date for the operation. He didn't want to be unconscious because it meant a complete loss of control. Plus he would have to miss more school; he would probably just wait for the holidays to come around to have it removed.

However, when Alex reached the changing rooms, he found out that his games shirt would not be needed. His class was currently having swimming lessons during games. The teacher was new, and Alex didn't recognise him. He knew that he probably wasn't going to make the best impression.

"I don't have any swimming stuff." Alex said, truthfully (although of course he wouldn't have brought it if he had known about their new timetable).

"I told you all last week that nobody was getting out of swimming." The teacher said with a glare. Alex remembered that his name was Mr James – Tom had mentioned him as 'an absolute nutbag'.

"I wasn't here last week." Alex pointed out, trying to keep things reasonable.

"You lot think that you can just 'forget' your swimwear and not have to take part in a mandatory session." Mr James scolded. He was obviously assuming Alex was just avoiding swimming, like a lot of people did.

"I didn't even know that we had swimming." Alex protested, slightly irritated now. "I've been off school."

"That's it. Detention. If you forget your swimming stuff next week you can swim in your underpants." Mr James snapped. Alex sighed. He was trying to keep out of trouble. He would have to get Jack to write him a note getting him out of swimming for the rest of the term. Alex sighed, and found a book in his bag. He would have to watch his friends swim for the whole last hour of school.

Four o clock on Saturday came around fast. Alex found himself at the offices of his new counsellor, about to have his first session. He knocked on the door, and entered without waiting for a response.

The counsellor was grey haired, probably in his late forties or early fifties. He was wearing a blue suit that didn't fit well; it was too large, suggesting he had lost weight recently, and hadn't had time to replace his clothes. He didn't wear a tie, giving him a sense of informality. Alex supposed that was deliberate.

The counsellor was sitting on a soft looking chair, across from a sofa that he supposed was for him. The sofa looked comfortable enough, and it was facing the door, so Alex sat down. When he did, the man smiled at him.

"Hi, I'm Tim Duncan, but you can just call me Tim if you want. Mr Duncan sounds a bit formal." The man, Tim, said. His voice was soft and reminded Alex of Doctor Clarkson's. It had the same friendly and approachable ring to it.

"I'm Alex. But you already knew that." Alex said, looking into the man's eyes and searching for any unseen intentions. Tim didn't seem fazed – as a therapist attached to MI6 Alex supposed he dealt with a lot of untrusting people.

Neither of them said anything for a minute or so, but it wasn't and awkward silence – they were both examining body language and expression. Alex got the distinct feeling that Tim was waiting to see if Alex would go first – just start talking. It wasn't going to be that easy. Alex briefly wondered if he should just not speak for the entire session, but then he remembered that he had promised Jack to try to use these sessions to get help. And, in fairness, he wasn't doing so well on his own.

"So, Alex, what did you want to talk about?" Tim finally asked, when it became clear Alex wasn't going to say anything.

"I don't know. Aren't you supposed to tell me?" Alex said, with a slight sigh.

"This is your time, Alex. We're not going to talk about anything that you don't want to." Tim's voice was patient.

"Well then, I don't really want to talk about the things that have happened to me, to be honest," Alex said quickly. He surprised himself with his truthfulness. But there was something about Tim – perhaps it was his calm voice, or his unthreatening posture, but Alex felt surprisingly trusting towards the man. He supposed that was what made Tim good at his job.

"What makes you feel that way?" Tim questioned, unaggressive.

"I just think that bringing it up will make it worse. I just don't want to think about it."

"Do you think shutting it away is working? That sounds very difficult to do on a daily basis." Tim asked, looking at Alex appraisingly.

"Umm… " Alex tried pausing for a while, to see if he would fill the silence. "I guess not. I keep having flashbacks and I don't feel over it."

"Talking things through can be really beneficial," Tim pointed out.

"But what if it makes things worse?" Alex muttered.

"How do you think things could get worse?" Tim asked, looking genuinely inquisitive, like he really was interested in what Alex had to say.

"Things can always get worse," Alex said with a sigh. "If I've learnt one thing it's that even if you can't imagine how the situation could possibly be bleaker, other people certainly can."

"It sounds like you've had a really rough time. Not many people would think like that, especially at your age."

"Really tough just doesn't cover it. What do you know about what happened to me?" Alex wondered.

"Just the basics, Alex. I don't want to know things if you aren't comfortable telling them to me. And I get the impression that nobody really knows or understands what happened to you apart from you."

"How could anybody understand?" Alex whispered, more to himself than to Tim. "There's not a single person in the world who's lived my life so far. Nobody has any idea. People just walk round, assuming that they're safe from harm, from hurt. But nobody really is. There's a darkness beneath the skin of our lives, and once you notice it, once it touches you, you can never go back. Because how can you just live, when you know that safety is just an illusion; how can you live when you know that everything that you have, everything that you are, can be taken away? Especially when you're the only person who sees it."

"It seems like you feel very isolated. Would you say that's fair?" Tim said, looking concerned.

"Definitely. Tom, he's the only one of my friends who knows what actually happened to me, just doesn't understand. And I don't expect him to. But it's just… hard. The rest of my year group just think I'm weird. My teachers give me funny looks. I feel so alone."

"How do you think you could feel more included?"

"Well, I try and act normal, but doing it all the time is exhausting."

"When you say normal, what exactly do you mean?" Tim asked.

"I try to act like I did a year ago. Before my life got completely screwed."

"That does sound exhausting. I think it's clear that you are a very different person now compared to who you were then," Tim observed.

"Exactly. I've changed so much, in such a short space of time," Alex agreed.

"What do you think all of the changes are? Are they positive or negative?" Tim asked. Alex thought for a few moments.

"A mix," He finally said.

"Why don't you list them," Tim suggested. "I'll give you a few minutes to think about it." He offered Alex some paper, but Alex turned him down. Instead he shut his eyes and listed the changes in his head. Thinking it through, he realised that his character and personality really had changed – he was a different person inside and out. He thought for what seemed like a short time, but, judging by the clock, was actually a long while. Tim didn't interrupt him or hurry him, which Alex was grateful for. He just wanted time to think. Eventually, he spoke.

"There's a lot of negatives. I'm more distracted because I always feel hyperaware of what's going on – like I automatically sit so I can see at least one exit. I don't trust people. I feel afraid a lot of the time, but like I can't show it. I find it hard to relax. I'm more willing to hurt people. I'm colder emotionally. I don't really think about the future. I don't assume things are going to work out."

"What about positives?" Tim probed, when Alex had finished.

"I guess I'm a lot more independent, which is kind of a good thing. I'm really capable; I can do things lots of adults can't. I don't find small problems a big deal any more. I know that I'm a strong person, and even though toughening up was painful and left me different, it made me feel like I know the truth about the world. I can cope extremely well under pressure. I've saved a lot of lives, which sometimes makes me feel better about myself," Alex said with a slight smile. "Oh, and I'm a hell of a lot better at coming up with one liners," He added, feeling his smile widen.

"You mentioned quite a few skills that you've built up. Would you say that those skills that you've developed could be useful?" Tim queried.

"Definitely in intelligence work, but I don't want to do that again, even when I turn eighteen. I don't know, maybe if I was a trauma surgeon or something. I don't think A&E would faze me."

"You say you don't look into the future, but that sounds like a career prospect you've thought about."

"When I was younger, I used to want to be a footballer. But I quite enjoy getting adrenaline rushes; I guess I'd have to have a job with pressure. Hopefully not one with fear of death." Alex's tone was light, but he realised what he was saying was actually true.

"I hope you've found this session useful, Alex. I want you to know that we don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. I'm here to listen. I'd really like it if we could build up some trust between us, and be able to talk about the issues that are making life difficult for you," Tim told Alex. He seemed genuine, like he really did want to help.

"Maybe," Alex said, without too much commitment. Trust wasn't something to be gained over the course of minutes. But the counsellor seemed satisfied with the response.

Somewhat surprised that he was feeling mildly better, Alex Rider smiled as he left the room.

**I really wasn't sure about this chapter, but I decided to post it anyway. It didn't really go where I wanted it to, but I thought that I should update sooner than I did last time. Anyway, what did you think? Please leave me a review :D**


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